


Husbandry

by trr_rr



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Gardens & Gardening, Love, M/M, Mortality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24726037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trr_rr/pseuds/trr_rr
Summary: If you add a layer of straw or wood chippings to your vegetable bed the soil will stay moist for longer.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 14
Kudos: 34





	Husbandry

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a favourite aspect of gardening or favourite plant or fruit let me know and this might become multichaptered.

Once again the earth warms up and the insects still sleepy start to visit in the afternoon. The soil gets damp and sticks to my fingers when I dig them deep into the ground to sow seeds. When I visit I have to unclose the petals and tear his flowers to see inside where the pollen collects.

The sunflowers get much taller than me and that delights him. Link didn’t think anything he planted could outgrow me. His joy grows with those flowers. He loves them because they are tall.

There are dark hairs on his head and blond hairs on his arms. Nature can sneak up and surprise me but summer will always follow spring.

My heart rubs against his. I can’t hold him. My hands will crush him completely. Translucent sticky droplets on hollow filaments, itchy coat my knees every time they brush against him. Sore and swollen are my palms and fingers when I forget to laugh as I touch his arm.

The small pond surface refracts light against the panes.

Making love is much like sleeping. If we want to tend the garden together I have to tuck in my legs to fit beside him. He mumbles and breathes loud and he does so with reckless abandon with his face in my face. It's however Link wants it and that's how it grows.

The glasshouse windows stay closed in the stifling swelter of early afternoon. A handful of lavender and sage from outside over his nose and mouth in a fist. There are no bursts or gushes. Just a dribble and it is dandelion milk.

He has me and has had me for more than thirty summers. My beard has outgrown the parsley. Not a season goes by and I don't catch his scent on the wind where he stands beside me outside of the passing of time.

There is nothing beyond the mist that obscures the view of anything out there beyond the little place which we tend together. It’s all a dream and we can cultivate the garden we share in any way we choose. But he won’t put his name to it.

He can plant seeds time and time again. We can eat what we grow and pick the soil from beneath our fingernails but when the sunflowers get as tall as they can manage, taller even than the greenhouse, we both know that they will wither, snap, fall to the ground and rot.


End file.
